Superman's Dead
by Failure Turtle
Summary: One swift movement and it would all be over. Randy/Kelly. One shot.


**A/N: I feel bad for the fandom. This probably just made it worse. Send your hate now.**

It would all be so easy, wouldn't it?

Her whimpers were annoying. Her face made him shudder in fear. Her voice sent shivers of anger tingle down his spine.

And yet he spent almost every night on the road with her, cheating on his wife and digging himself into a deeper and deeper hole.

One swift movement and it would all be over. His annoyance with her. Their so-called "business relationship." He wouldn't have to deal with her anymore. He would be a free man, released from the binds that her neediness put around his wrists.

One swift movement and it would all be over. His career, everything he worked for. It would all go up in flames if he just moved his hand back and wiped that bucktoothed grin off of her face. It would all come to an end, and possibly her life, as well.

Randy Orton was mercifully awoken one morning in his hotel room by someone rubbing gentle circles on his chest. He grumbled as he rolled over and looked into the face of his own personal devil.

"Good morning, Randy," Kelly Kelly sighed, looking up at Randy with a dreamy look in her eye.

Randy's head raged with the blare of an oncoming migraine as his eyes reduced to slits. To Randy, Kelly looked like an innocent young chipmunk who had run into the street in front of a charging semi-truck who was about to become road kill. And Randy was in the semi-truck kind of mood.

He must have had too much to drink last night. He swore that he would cut down his little visits with the WWE's youngest Diva. But here she was, right next to him. And based on how his body felt, he was pretty sure that they were both still naked from the night before.

What had become of Randy Orton?

"Why are you touching me?" Randy said, tossing the covers off of himself and sitting up, reaching down onto the floor of the hotel room and picking up his boxers, stepping inside them and standing up as he pulled them up his body.

He could hear Kelly sigh in content behind him. "Randy, come back to bed," she whined, rubbing the area on the bed next to her where Randy once lay.

Randy searched around the hotel room for his pants that had seem to have gone astray the night before. "What the fuck…" he muttered as he buttoned the back pockets back up on his jeans and folded them so he could place them back in his suitcase.

"Are you even going to answer me?"

"Get out," Randy whispered, not even bothering to look at her. It was that time where everything she said or did was starting to bother him. The sound of her breathing lit a fire under his ass so intense that he was afraid that if he took another breath of the same air as her, he would become just as blonde, petite, and annoying as she was. It was almost as if he feared that the disease known as Kelly Kelly was contagious.

And considering the fact that he was with her almost every night, he must have caught that disease, and he was quickly looking for the remedy.

"What?" Kelly asked, picking up her long t-shirt dress off the floor and pulling it over her head. "But we usually hang out the morning after."

"No, Kelly," Randy said sternly, still not looking at her. He was currently engrossed in making sure that each fold he made in every garment he was intending to pack up was perfect.

Kelly scoured the floor for her misplaced bra and panties. After discovering them on one of the lampshades and on the television set, she quickly stuffed them in her purse and walked up to Randy.

"Did you pick up your things? I want to have to clean this place as little as possible before I leave," Randy asked.

"Yeah, I picked up my underwear," Kelly frowned, trying to put herself in Randy's view.

"I don't know why you even bother with those nice bras, Kelly. Sure, they're fun to look at, but you have fake tits that don't move. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?"

"Why are you so mean to me now, Randy? I thought you liked me!" she demanded, stomping her bare foot on the ground.

Randy harshly turned around and glared at the young woman. He felt as if his blue eyes were turning red. Steam could have been blowing out of his ears for all he knew. It had gone too far this time.

And he was starting to feel it.

His right arm was shaking and his hand balled up into a fist. His elbow twitched. His mind wanted him to bring his fist back as far as he could and connect it with the animalistic cheek of the pretty little thing in front of him.

For once, Randy's mind won over.

No, he had worked too hard to ruin it all. He had a home life that he loved. He had kept this secret from his wife for far too long to ruin it now. He could not do this. He could not kill the innocent little doe.

"Get out, Kelly," Randy calmly said, exhaling all the anger that was held inside of him. "Just get out."

It would have been too easy for Randy. But Randy Orton never took the easy way out, now did he?


End file.
